Somewhere beyond Ikshar, erratic gusts of wind crashed against a boulder – wild and unrestrained, a stark contrast to the controlled, crystalline power of frost.
'Why isn't it working?' Riniock grumbled, extending his hand once more, only for another burst of wind to escape his fingertips. Sweat slicked his brow, both from exertion and the unrelenting heat. 'I know I understood the entire process.'
After inscribing the method into his tome, he and Niann had left the academy grounds in search of a secluded spot to train.
As Riniock struggled to transmute the odh particles of wind into ice, Niann busied himself with his own practice nearby. Yet, every so often, he cast a glance in Riniock's direction, observing his movements, piecing together his intentions. With each muttered frustration, Niann gradually unravelled the nature of his training.
For the most part, Niann remained silent, carefully observing the pauses Riniock took between attempts.
'Circulate the odh,' Riniock muttered to himself, mentally reviewing the steps.
He followed the breathing technique taught to him by Professor Gieller, though its effectiveness was diminished in the relentless heat. Designed specifically for tempest elements, the technique was naturally hindered in the arid, rock-strewn wasteland. Here, odh moved sluggishly – heavy, scarce, and far less responsive to his will, hampering his practice significantly.
'Extend the odh imbued with wind daur to my fingertips,' he continued, executing the motions as he spoke. 'Then transmute it with the frost daur, freezing the initial element.'
Yet, as soon as the wind gathered at his fingertips, it stubbornly refused to shift into frost.
According to the nameless author, wind served as a foundation for both frost and spark magick. If one mastered wind first – as Riniock had – then wielding all three should have been within reach.
'Was the book purely theoretical?'
With a frustrated sigh, he conceded for the moment, slumping onto a nearby boulder, his fist pressed against his forehead in deep contemplation. Only once before had he worn such an expression of utter defeat – when he had come face to face with the Great Lidthrag and barely escaped with his life.
'What am I doing wrong?' he kept asking himself. 'I can't see the flaw in my own approach.'
As Riniock mulled over the process, mentally retracing each step, Niann continued to watch him intently, piecing together the mechanics on his own.
Strangely, he found that he could predict the nature of Riniock's spell just moments before its completion.
Ordinarily, when a spell is being formed, more than just odh and daur intertwine – intent and information take shape as well. Every spell, whether a feeble spark or a cataclysmic tempest, requires a spell circle to function. These circles act as instructions, a blueprint ingrained in the maegi's knowledge, directing magickal energies to transform and to manifest the desired effect.
In theory, this also means that a maegi's spell circle betrays their intentions.
However, the ability to decipher these intricate formations in real time is exceedingly rare – few possess such a talent. To predict an opponent's spell before its completion is an invaluable skill, one that only a handful of maegis across the world have mastered.
Niann, unaware that he might possess such an ability, unconsciously recognised a flaw in Riniock's technique.
'You're doing something wrong,' he stated bluntly.
Riniock snapped his head towards him, irritation flashing across his face. 'What?'
'There's a misalignment in your spell circle,' Niann pointed out. 'That's why it's not working.'
Riniock initially glared at Niann, irritation flashing in his eyes. But when Niann simply shook his head, his anger faded into confusion. Niann wouldn't lie about something like this – especially not when it came to magick.
His frown softened into neutrality.
'What's wrong with the way I'm doing it?' he asked, inhaling deeply and steadying himself.
Niann stepped closer. 'Cast the spell again, but this time, hold it in place so I can show you what I noticed.'
Without hesitation, Riniock complied, conjuring the spell and keeping it steady in his palm. Niann studied the formation carefully before pointing to a section of the spell circle.
'Here,' he said, tapping at the glowing symbols. 'This part is structured incorrectly. If I had to guess, the original author wrote it in another language, and when it was translated, the sentence structure wasn't properly adjusted. Because of that, the spell doesn't function as intended. If we fix the order, the transmutation should finally work.'
'So the spell was mistranslated?' Riniock asked, realisation dawning on him. He wasn't at fault.
'Exactly.'
Without wasting time, Riniock sat down on the warm sand and flipped open his arcane tome. He adjusted the spell circle based on Niann's suggestion, correcting the mistranslation.
Once satisfied, he stood and prepared to test it again.
Taking a deep breath, he circulated his odh, letting it flow seamlessly through his conduits. As it reached his fingertips, the familiar gust of wind formed – but this time, the air instantly froze, swirling into a cluster of volatile snowflakes around his palm.
'That's it!' he shouted, elated. Laughing, he turned to Niann, then snapped his wrist forward, launching a sharp icicle straight into the boulder ahead.
The feeling was indescribable.
The two of them cheered like they had just won a grand prize, the thrill of discovery fuelling their excitement. Eventually, once the adrenaline settled, Riniock tapped Niann's shoulder.
'You fixed it,' he said. 'How did you do that?'
Niann hesitated. 'I'm…not sure. I just saw that something was wrong with the spell.'
Riniock frowned. 'But I was casting almost instantly each time. You couldn't have analysed the details that fast…Could you?'
Niann merely shrugged.
A thought struck Riniock, his expression shifting. 'Wait a second – if you can spot flaws in spell circles that quickly, can you also tell what kind of magick someone is casting before they even finish?'
Niann bit his thumb, thinking. 'I don't know.'
'Let's test it. I'll cast something, and you tell me what I'm trying to do.'
Niann nodded and focused.
Riniock took position, silently uttering an incantation. A spell circle flared to life in his palm, and almost instantly, Niann's eyes narrowed as if by instinct. He instantly scanned the spell circle, deciphering its function.
'Are you…summoning a chest?' he asked, uncertain but confident.
A moment later, Riniock's hidden coffer materialised before them, proving Niann's guess correct.
'This is incredible!' Riniock grinned. 'That's an amazing skill – perfect for combat, too.'
'Too bad I'm more of an academic,' Niann said dryly.
'Don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you'll find plenty of uses for it in other fields.'
Niann smiled, contemplating the possibilities.
Riniock mirrored his expression – until a sudden vibration in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. His hand instinctively reached for the source, retrieving the earstone which pulsed erratically, as if reacting to something urgent.
Without hesitation, he pressed it to his ear.
A soft voice emerged from within. 'Riniock?'
His eyes widened in surprise. The voice was unmistakable. Niann, however, scowled the moment he recognised it.
Riniock brought the earstone closer to his mouth. 'Linry? Is that you?'